


Strays

by Callie4180



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Eames Stupid Cupid 2017, Fic Exchange, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Valentine's Day Fluff, cat fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 00:31:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9691637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Callie4180/pseuds/Callie4180
Summary: Cats were cats, after all, and they either came to you, or they didn’t.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [evisionarts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/evisionarts/gifts).



> For Evisionarts, for the EamesStupidCupid2017 Valentine's Day exchange. The prompt was: cat.

_ ~February~ _

It had been a particularly busy season. Eames had flown from one job to start another immediately, and then there’d been another waiting after that. After so many weeks away, walking back into his flat left him feeling a mixture of relief and curiosity. These were his things. This was his home. It felt both larger and smaller than he remembered. 

It was also very, very quiet. 

He sighed down into his cup of coffee, shaking his head just a little. Outside the window, morning light was barely tinting the horizon, and at dusk and dawn, Eames allowed himself a bit of wistfulness.

From across the road, a flutter of movement caught his eye. A shadowy form slid between the slats of the fence and stopped just outside the circle of the corner streetlamp’s feeble beam. The creature—ah, it was a cat, Eames could see the long tail now—stretched as if it were made of taffy, and Eames felt his own tight muscles twitch with envy. The cat eased into the light and lazily scanned its surroundings. Eames must have shifted as he stood, because the cat paused to regard him through the glass. They stared at each other for a long moment. The cat was long and lean, with a shimmer to its grey coat Eames could appreciate even through the dim morning light.

After a minute, Eames lifted his cup in salute. The cat blinked, turned away, and made its way into the hedges that lined the alley. Hunting mice, probably, Eames thought, it was too early for birds.

It was too early for anyone, really. Christ, he was tired. He set the cup down on the side table and headed back to his bedroom for a nap.

\---

Two days later, Eames’s mobile pinged with the tone of the secure text channel. He keyed in his code and waited.

AM to E: contact

Ah, Arthur. Eames couldn’t help but smile. They hadn’t worked together for, what was it, six months? He thought of Arthur hunched over his laptop, frowning earnestly, and his smile broadened. Was Arthur wearing a suit? He liked Arthur’s suits.

AM: offer incoming  
E: standing by  
AM: Geneva, April. 15 days.  
AM:  5-person team  
AM:  simple hack. 1.5m firm + expenses

Eames didn’t even stop to think it through.

E: accept  
AM: acknowledged

========================

_ ~May~ _

Eames got used to seeing the cat.

It was always out there, nearby, sometimes sunning on the neighbour’s car bonnet, or foraging in the leaves that crept out under the fence. He (Eames thought of the cat as a male, no reason, really) was a slender creature, but obviously strong; one morning he landed a leap that took Eames’s breath away. Eames enjoyed watching him stalking his prey, or fastidiously grooming on top of the post box, but always from a distance. The cat watched him, too, but never let him get close. Sometimes Eames pulled the curtains back in the early morning just in time to see a grey furry backside darting from his entryway back across the street.

He tried not to take it personally.

\---

AM to E: contact  
AM: offer incoming  
E: standing by  
AM: New York, July. 12 days.  
AM: 4 person team  
AM: easy mark. 1.0m with bonus for secondary goal + expenses

Eames hesitated. He didn’t really like working in the States.

E: deadline?  
AM: 24 hours  
E: under advisement  
AM: acknowledged

There was a pause. Arthur usually logged off immediately. Eames blinked down at the screen.

AM: If it matters, they requested you

Well. That was flattering.

AM: They said they wanted the best

Wait. Eames frowned. Did they ask for him specifically, or did they ask for the best, and if it was the latter, did that mean Arthur--

AM: I’d appreciate your consideration

Huh. Arthur really wanted this job, and he apparently wanted Eames on his team. Eames scratched his head and considered. It never hurt to have the point man owe you a favour.

E: accept  
AM: acknowledged

Another pause.

AM: thank you

Eames smiled down at his mobile. It must have hurt to have to ask.

E: acknowledged

He bit his lip. No harm in it, he supposed.

E: it will be good to see you again

_ Another  _ pause.

AM: you, too

Well. That was something, at least.

========================

_ ~September~ _

It had been raining for three days, a steady, cold rain that had Eames staring out the window and wondering why he’d ever thought to settle in London. He was restless. He hadn’t worked in a while, his choice, really, but he was bored, and now he was getting anxious, and anxious boredom was dangerous. There was nothing for it; he’d have to go out for a run. He drank the last bit of his coffee and rinsed out the cup. If he left now, he could be home before sunrise.

He slid the dark sweatshirt down over his Kevlar vest. It was a necessary evil, the protection, but god, he hated running with the thing when it was wet outside. He’d be a steamy, sweaty mess before too long, but if he didn’t get rid of some of this energy, he was going to scream.

He tied his shoes, checked for his key, opened the front door, and froze. 

The cat was curled up on the stoop, as far from the door as he could get and still be out of the rain. He lifted his head and regarded Eames with wily, weary suspicion.

Eames blinked once, and then slowly eased back and very carefully and quietly closed the door.

He could go out through the garden, no problem. He’d just have to jump the fence.

\---

The job was over, and the team had split, but Eames lingered in a corner of the large, light-filled lobby. He waited until he saw Arthur striding through the ornate entry, and timed his interception at the lift just right.

“Good work out there,” Eames said, gesturing lazily behind them, toward the street and back in time to the job they’d just completed. “You pulled all that together in a hurry.”

Arthur looked up from his mobile, blinking in surprise. “Oh. Thanks. Yeah, it worked out. I was lucky I could recruit a team on such short notice.” He looked around quickly, and leaned in a little. “But, uh. I wanted to tell you. That was a  _ great  _ forgery. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you go full improv like that. You really got to him.”

Eames shrugged, but was secretly pleased. “It’s what you pay me for, darling, but it’s kind of you to say.” He tipped his head to the side of the lobby, toward the bar. “Can I buy you a drink?”

Arthur stared at him for a long moment, and Eames was surprised to see vulnerability in his eyes, and...was that longing? “I—really should get going.”

“Oh, go on,” Eames said, his heart starting to race just a little. He’d expected an outright rejection. “Just one drink, and then we’ll go our separate ways.”

“We shouldn’t—“ Arthur hesitated. “It’s probably not good for us to be seen together. Could be dangerous. You know?”

“Plenty of dark corners in that bar, love,” Eames said, smirking as he waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Arthur snorted, and somehow it was a bright sound. “Oh, fine. Just the one, though,” he said, and slipped his mobile into his jacket pocket.

========================

_ ~November~ _

The cat slept on his porch at least twice a week now. Eames put a box out there, and folded a soft towel into it.

As far as Eames could tell, the cat didn’t have an owner, in so much as any cat would allow itself to be owned. He‘d just claimed this corner, these few buildings with an alley and a post box and some meagre bunches of grass, and made it his own. He was thin and a bit scruffy, but he seemed content.

One morning, while the cat was still in his box, Eames opened the front door just enough to slip out a can of tuna. He quickly pulled the door shut, and then hopped to the window to watch.

After a moment’s sniffing, the cat took a careful taste. Eames found himself holding his breath.

Three minutes later, the fish had been devoured, and the cat was contentedly cleaning its face. Eames grinned.

He’d noticed, though, that even while eating with obvious pleasure, the cat always kept one eye on the walkway. He sighed. He knew the loneliness of always having to watch your back. It got old, with time.

\---

AM: contact  
AM: offer incoming  
E: standing by  
AM: short notice again, sorry  
AM: Paris, December. 9 days.  
AM:  4-person team  
AM:  1.3m + expenses  
AM: you’ll be home for Xmas

Eames’s finger hesitated over the screen. Why the hell not?

E: I’ll do it if you’ll have dinner with me  
AM: what?  
E: I’ll accept if we can have dinner after

There was a long pause, but Arthur stayed connected. Eames quirked a small smile, despite the flutter of nerves in his belly. He’d love to see Arthur right now. Was he laughing? Frowning? It was a full minute before the answer came.

AM: it’s probably not a good idea

Yes, that went without saying. But Arthur hadn’t shut him down.

E: agreed. We’ll get room service, no one will see us  
E: I promise to be a perfect gentleman

Eames squeezed his mobile just a bit tighter as he stared at the screen. Arthur took forever to answer, what the hell was he--

AM: very well  
E: accept  
AM: acknowledged  
AM: you’re insane  
E: acknowledged

Eames grinned right up until the moment he fell asleep.

========================

_ ~January~ _

It had been unseasonably warm of late. Eames usually wouldn’t have noticed--all he usually worried about was if there was ice on the runway, and if the warehouse had a decent place to grab a kip—but he was glad for it now, for the cat’s sake. Still, it was winter. Eames replaced the box and towel with a small plastic kennel and a fluffy fleece blanket. After watching a few unsuccessful hunting attempts, Eames realized that prey had probably grown sparse with the season, so he took to buying tuna by the case. Occasionally, Eames would look out to find a very dead small rodent or snake on his doormat, and he appreciated the cat’s attempts to keep their relationship fair and even.

One fairly warm afternoon drove Eames outside to his stoop, cup of tea in hand, to enjoy the sunshine. The neighbour from across the street waved on her way to the post box, and a bird peeped from the brush across the street. It was a rare moment of peace, and Eames closed his eyes and breathed it in.

He felt a soft, warm body brush against his calf and froze.

He slowly opened his eyes and without moving his head, looked down to see a pair of gold eyes regarding him steadily, cautiously, from barely a foot away. The cat had rubbed against him...had  _ rubbed against him _ and wasn’t running. Slowly, deliberately, Eames extended his index finger out toward the cat, stopping a few inches shy of his face.

The cat just looked at him. Eames waited.

The cat finally blinked and stretched out his long neck to delicately sniff at Eames’s finger, maintaining eye contact all the while. After several long seconds of this, the cat leaned in and rubbed his face against Eames's finger.

He was petting the cat. Well, the cat was petting himself, but he was using Eames to do it. However one defined it, it was lovely.

After nearly a minute, the cat leaned back and stared again. He seemed to be just--waiting, and Eames opened his mouth to say something to him, something gentle and calming.

But from behind the house across the way came the loud bang of a bin lid being dropped. Eames started, the cat bolted, and the moment was lost.

Eames sighed and reached for his teacup. It had been nice while it lasted.

\---

The alley was cold and damp, but Arthur’s lips were warm and soft. “We shouldn’t do this,” he murmured, as Eames dragged his lips up Arthur’s neck and nibbled at the edge of his jaw.

“No. No, certainly not,” Eames mumbled back, as he dove in again to taste that dizzying mouth. Arthur met him more than halfway, and made a noise deep in his throat that Eames knew he’d sell his soul to hear again.

“Risky, very risky,” Arthur agreed as he leaned back against the wall behind him and wrapped his arms tightly around Eames, pulling him in closer. One chilled hand slid up to the back of Eames’s neck, and Eames could feel the calluses from Arthur’s gun rub against his own superheated skin. Arthur was  _ caressing him with his gun hand._ The thought was almost enough to drive Eames to his knees, and wasn’t that an idea?

A loud, clear ping came from Arthur’s pocket.

“Ignore it,” Eames said desperately, as he braced his elbows against the wall just above Arthur’s shoulders and slid the length of his body against him. Arthur was all lean muscle and tense strength, and god, Eames just wanted to  _ devour _ him. He hungrily claimed Arthur’s mouth again, and shifted his hips in just enough to—he could just about feel—they were almost—

The mobile pinged again. Arthur broke off the kiss and, panting hard, spread his hand against Eames’s chest.

“Don’t,” Eames said, closing his eyes. “Please.”

“I’m sorry,” Arthur whispered. “I have to go.” He brushed one last kiss against Eames’s cheek, and was gone.

========================

_ ~March~ _

Eames hadn’t seen the cat for several weeks. He was concerned.

Eames knew he was still out there. The tuna kept disappearing, and sometimes he’d see a fresh impression in the fleece bed, but he just couldn’t manage to get a sighting. He tried not to worry, but after he’d gotten to touch him he’d hoped for more, and god, Eames had tried so hard, hadn’t he? But cats were cats, after all, and they either came to you, or they didn’t.

Eames supposed it didn’t matter, in the end. He tried to let it go. He drank his coffee and went running in the dark, and if he turned down the job offers that came his way, well, it was just because he needed a break. His was a demanding profession, after all. He certainly wasn’t staring out his window for hours on end, trying to catch a glimpse of a sleek, shadowy figure slipping between the slats of a fence.

None of the offers came from anyone interesting, anyway.

One Saturday afternoon found him at home with a book and a beer. The flat was quiet, almost silent, but still he almost missed the sound from his front door. It sounded like—scratching.

He picked up his gun and moved silently to the door. No one was visible through the peephole. He tightened his grip on the gun, slid over to the window, and with the other hand lifted the curtain just enough to see out. The sunlight was fading fast, and the porch was already in shade, but he could still see the small grey figure sitting on the doormat.

Shit. Habit forced him to check the street for a possible trap, but there was no one out there that he could see. He’d have to chance it. He slipped the gun into his waistband and slowly opened the door, just a few inches, and peeked out.

It wasn’t a trap, but he had a different problem on his hands.

The cat didn’t run away. He looked exhausted. There was a puffy cut on his face, several wounds down his back, and a kink in his tail Eames was certain hadn’t been there before. As Eames looked him over, the cat looked up at him and gave one single, weary, scratchy meow. One eye was swollen nearly closed.

Eames blinked. “All right,” he said softly, and opened the door all the way. “You can come in, I suppose.” He held his breath as the cat stood and walked into the entryway. He was limping, one front paw only touching the ground with every three or four steps.

Eames closed the door quietly behind him. “Oh dear, Old Scratch. You look like you caught the worst part of it.”

The cat just sat and stared at him.

Eames scratched his head. “Okay, well, I’ll get my first aid kit, and we’ll see what I can do to help.” He slipped around the cat and into the lavatory, grabbing the small black bag of essentials, a flannel, and a couple of towels.

He stepped out of the bathroom to find the cat had dragged himself into the kitchen and was looking up toward the sink. “Are you thirsty, then?” he asked. “Sorry, should have thought of that.” He walked into the kitchen, quickly filled a mug from the tap, and set it down on the floor. The cat started drinking before Eames had removed his hand from the handle, and without thinking, Eames reached over and massaged behind the cat’s ears with his thumb and index finger.

Just as he realized what he’d done, the cat began to purr.

“Ah, I see,” Eames said, and smiled. “Passed the test, did I?”

The cat purred a little louder.

\---

Two weeks later, Eames’s mobile buzzed. It was his regular ringtone, loud in the midnight darkness.

“Eames,” a voice rasped. “I’m sorry, I know it’s late, but—“

Eames sat up, suddenly wide awake. “Arthur. Is that you?”

“Yeah.” Eames heard a sniff, and the sound of wind against Arthur’s mouthpiece. “Yeah, it’s me.”

“Are you all right?” Eames leaned over and flipped on the table lamp. After a lifetime of late night surprises, Eames had learned to stay calm, and he let those impulses carry him now. He was, after all, a man of action.

Arthur laughed softly, a single humourless chuckle, which dissolved into a wet cough and then a quiet moan.

“Arthur?” There was no reply, and Eames reached for his laptop. He could trace the call as long as Arthur stayed on the line.

“I need help,” came a whisper. 

“I’ll come. Where are you?” He hoped like hell Arthur was in Europe, someplace with a decent airport. Eames reached for his shoes and tried to remember how much cash he had in his wallet. His passports were in the closet safe, and he started to consider which identity was least likely to raise flags at airport security. If there was going to be trouble, he’d need to carry his gun, and—

Another soft cough, and far too much rattle in his breathing for Eames’s comfort. There was bleeding somewhere. “London,” Arthur said.

“London?” Eames stilled. “Wait, my London?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I was going to—it was a just a quick job, Eames, and I was thinking I might call you, you know, after—“

Eames closed his eyes but his voice stayed steady. “Okay. You’re in London.” He took a deep breath. “Just—tell me where you are. I’ll come get you.”

“I—I’m on your corner,” Arthur said, with a cough and just a hint of hesitation.

“You’re on—right. Right,” Eames said, shaking his head. “Can you walk?”

“—Sort of.”

Eames swore and disconnected the phone. He pulled on his shoes and moved quickly to the front door, still swearing, and opened it to find Arthur staggering up the walk. Even in the darkness, Eames could see how pale he was, and how much in pain he appeared to be. Eames cursed one last time and ran to his side. 

“Slow, now, darling,” he said, taking Arthur’s arm. “I’ve got you.”

Eames helped him up the single step to the porch, noticing Arthur’s wince as he tried to lift his arm, the sharp intake of breath as Eames brushed lightly against his side. Ribs and shoulder, Eames thought. The limp was coming from the knee—a direct kick to the kneecap would make him limp like that, his own memory helpfully supplied—and considering the bruises and the cut lip, and that his nose was still bleeding after he’d taken the time to get here, probably meant that all in all—

“You need a doctor,” Eames said, as he closed the door behind them and motioned him to the sofa.

Arthur collapsed into the cushions, looked down at his blood stained sleeve, and smiled without humour. “It’s not as bad as it looks,” he said, closing his eyes.

“Well, it looks pretty fucking bad,” Eames replied gently. “Who was it?”

Arthur sniffed and twisted his head to the side in a weak imitation of a shrug. “I’m not sure,” he said, and Eames ached to hear the exhaustion in his voice. “I’m thinking someone on the team sold me out.” Arthur sighed. “It was supposed to be a simple job, but there was some drama, an argument or something. They called me in at the last minute, and I didn’t know everyone. Stupid of me not to check it out.” Arthur reached up and gingerly palpated his nose. “I’m thinking there must have been some hurt feelings.”

Eames went into the lavatory and came back with a wet flannel. “You should have called me,” he said carefully, as he gently sponged the blood from Arthur’s split lip. “I could have vetted everyone for you, at least. I could have helped.”

Arthur took the cloth and continued wiping his own face, not meeting Eames’s eyes. “I know, Eames. I’m sorry.”

Eames ran his hand through his hair. “Christ, don’t be sorry. Just—“ He sighed. “Don’t bleed all over my sofa, all right?”

Arthur quirked a sad half-smile. “I’ll try. I think it’s finally slowing down, anyway.”

“Right, then.” Eames started back toward the kitchen. “So no doctor?” he said, over the sound of the kettle.

“No.” Arthur shook his head. “Maybe—if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, maybe you could take me by an all night chemist’s so I could pick up some plasters and ibuprofen? Then you could just drop me at a hotel somewhere. I just—I probably shouldn’t go back to my room tonight.”

“Yeah, no,” Eames said, walking back into the lounge with a cup in his hand. “You’re staying right here.”

Arthur looked up at him, brow creased, “I don’t mean to—“

“Shut up, Arthur,” Eames interrupted. He placed the mug on the coffee table and angled the handle in Arthur’s direction. “I know you are usually in charge of planning, but tonight, I am going to handle it for you. First, you will drink that,” he directed, pointing at the tea. “I’m going to get you some ibuprofen. You will take it. Then, I’m going to get you some pyjamas. You are going to shower and put on the pyjamas. Then you are going to lie down and go to sleep. And—“ he gave a careless wave of his hand. “We’ll sort out the rest in the morning, after coffee.”

Arthur frowned. “But—“

Eames held up a single finger. “Respect the chain of command. Shut up and drink your tea.”

Arthur shut up and drank his tea.

\--- 

Eames couldn’t resist peeking in at Arthur as he lay there in the dark, peaceful and still against the white pillowcase. God, they had done a number on him. Eames's fingers twitched. He looked forward to tomorrow, when he could make a few calls, arrange a couple of visits. It would all be quite civilised, of course.

“I can hear you growling, you know,” Arthur said softly, his eyes still closed.

Eames pushed the door a little wider. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Arthur blinked his eyes open and sighed. “It’s fine. I wasn’t really sleeping. I’ve still got a hell of a headache.”

Eames frowned and took a step into the room, letting the light spill in from the hallway. “Do you want me to get you something?”

Arthur shifted his head on the pillow. “No, it’s all right.” He rubbed his forehead. “It’s just hard to get comfortable.”

After a moment of hesitation, Eames walked over and perched on the edge of the bed, his back to Arthur. He stared at the wall opposite. His closet door handle was incredibly ugly. He’d never noticed.

“Can I ask you something?” Eames said, after a moment.

He heard a soft chuckle behind him. “You might have saved my life tonight, so I suppose I have to say yes.”

Eames stayed very still and kept his gaze on the door handle. “Why did you call me?”

Arthur stayed silent for a minute, and though his heart was racing, Eames let him have the time.

Finally, Arthur sighed. “I can think of all kinds of smartass things to say, but my body hurts and I’m tired, and you’ve let me bleed on your couch, so I’m just going to tell you the truth.” He drew in a deep breath. “I trust you, Eames. You’ve never hurt me.”

“Ah.” Eames felt the tension leaving his shoulders. Even without looking, he could feel Arthur studying him closely. “That’s—that’s good, then.”

“It’s _ impossible," _ Arthur countered. “It makes no sense at all. You know what our lives are like. I mean, look at me. But when those guys ran off and I got to my feet—I didn’t even have to think twice. I just headed this way.”

Eames smiled. “I’m glad, Arthur,” he said softly. “Now, try to get some rest.” He rose and walked to the door. “Oh, and if you see him, don’t mind the cat. He’ll leave you alone.”

“Wait,” Arthur said, lifting his head from the pillow and squinting. “You have a cat?”

“Yeah. He’s around here somewhere.” Eames shrugged. “He just kind of showed up one day.”

“I see.” Arthur smiled. “I guess he was lucky to find you.”

“Well, you know...” Eames smiled back. “I always did have a soft spot for the wild ones.”

\---

Three mornings later, Eames woke up with Arthur’s head on his shoulder and the cat curled up at his feet.

He’d really need to get a bigger bed.

  
X  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Kedgeree, Mazarin221b, 221bJen, and EnduringChill for looking this over at various stages. 
> 
> As some of you know, I'm actually a feline veterinarian in real life, so getting this prompt was especially entertaining for me. 
> 
> Happy Valentine's Day to all. Thank you for reading this.


End file.
